The Sun Goes Out
by Everlane
Summary: In a virus ridden world, Rachel is left alone to fend for herself. When she's captured by a group of bandits, she's saved by an old friend who has more to do with the demons she's tried to chase away than she imagined.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Glee, but I do own the little poem below and a few original characters.

**Author's Note: **Afternoon guys. First off, a huge thank you to **Catty Jay** for being my beta reader. I asked her around the time she wasn't doing it, and she agreed. That shows a lot to me, and I just wanted to thank you so much for taking the time to look over this story. Now you might think it's probably not a big deal, but it is to me because it's hard finding out if your story is on the right track. Thank you again.

Now, I swore that I would never do a zombie story, but seriously, what writer can't resist their plot bunnies when watching _28 Weeks Later_? A huh, I thought so. I came up with this and I'm hoping that you guys will tell me what you think about it. Please review and I totally am fine with constructive criticism. No flames!

* * *

_It's glass breaking_

_Like her hopes were shattering inside _

_And she's longed stopped counting time_

_Longed stopped wishing_

_Like the death of the shining sun _

_That used to grace bright skies_

* * *

**The Sun Goes Out**

She thinks of it as a treasure. The picturesque moment, though fleeting and forgettable, became a memory tucked in the small corner of her heart. It's the image of him right after they left the stage with their diplomas, laughing while his arms embrace her, and smiling when she tip toes to press her lips against his.

It's not a real photo. But in this ungodly existence, she imagined it was. It was the last shred of innocence, and she needed the most she could get.

She couldn't tell the time. Her sleeping bag did little to quell the brittle cold in the 1st floor hallway of William McKinley High. Dozens of graduates, parents, siblings, and some of the McKinley staff were spread over marbled floors in makeshift beds. Most were sleeping, while some were awake, sitting up against the lockers in deep thought.

"Rachel?"

_God, why was she talking now?_

She let her eyes gently caress the calm profile of Quinn Fabray in a red Coleman sleeping bag. There were dark crescents underneath closed lids, and the girl's lips were now turning a dark shade of blue.

"Go to sleep Quinn."

The blonde shifted. "Are you packing up?"

Her voice changed, it's once honey toned filled with an alarming hoarseness that made Rachel reach for something. Her friend was trying to be optimistic for no reason, trying to forget that they were trapped in this school while the errant sounds of helicopters and distant beams of light circle the quiet building.

"We're not leaving here, Quinn."

"I'm set for Yale..." A soft gasp lifted her chest a little too high, while the petite brunette felt her finger tips touch cold metal. "...daddy's got the tickets."

"We're not getting out of here."

"Don't you want to get..." A cough rattled her body, causing some of the occupants in the hallway to stir a little at the sound. Quinn's coughing was like an old hag who did a lot of smoking, except it was ten times worse. "...to New York?"

Rachel pulled her fingers back away from the metal. "Stop."

"We're still going t-"

"Stop it!" Rachel snapped, her voice still quiet yet hard with an edge. She could almost hear the disappointment in the blonde's posture, suddenly slumped against nylon fabric. "_Please_, just go back to sleep."

She couldn't put herself up to see Quinn's face, because if she did, the blonde would know that she already knew. She already knew that there was a bite mark on Quinn's upper arm when her boyfriend came out of nowhere and attacked everyone in the choir room.

He was just going to the store, and she preparing for her performance with the others. She was anxious, and more worried about falling off stage than what came later. She was supposed to sing _Firework _with Mercedes, who left out to grab something from her car, before New Directions closed their performance with Lady Gaga's _Edge of Glory _when all the graduates would throw up their caps the end the event.

Puck and Santana along with Brittany, were on the football field like they told her before they left, adding on to her impatience. Rachel remembered that the blonde was trying to calm her down, all dolled up with wavy hair trailing down over her red graduation gown that covered a baby blue summer dress Rachel was dying to get later.

They were in a nervous wreck, but ready to get performance over with. But then she looked at Finn, his face drained of color, along with almost blue lips. He sat in the corner of the room in a silent state, scanning the room. He said he was just ill, that the doctor may have given him something else and he was going to 'tough it out' before leaving.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine." She recalled him saying after a cough, his eyes bloodshot and watery. "I'm gonna go grab some Tylenol. Maybe it'll go down a bit."

So he left. She thought he would be back and be ready to go, and they'd all look back at this sudden case of the flu like it didn't mean much. After a few weakened strides, he looked back one more time to toss Rachel a reassuring smile.

"I'll be back in a sec."

Quinn had locked the doors, saving everyone's life without even knowing it. For a few minutes, they waited to perform. Rachel was anxious because Mercedes and the others still didn't come back, and they were going to be up in a hour. She wanted to practice a little more before they headed to the auditorium's dressing room.

Her mind was reeling about graduation, not a possible virus or anything like that Hollywood garbage. Or that Quinn locking the door saved everyone's life but hers because her back was turned towards the double doors that Finn had just left through. For that moment, Rachel never realized that she was living her last piece of innocence before she heard that _bang._

The blonde sighed, her breath creating a small fog in the chilly air."If I go back to sleep..." Quinn began and took another shuddering breath. "...I don't know if I'll ever wake up."

Tears trailed down over her nose, seeping into the fabric of her makeshift bed, before her clammy hands wiped them away. Her fingers went back to the feel of cold metal, slowly tugging a heavy object, undeterred by the hush sounds it's sleeve made against the floor.

She blinked. "I'll wake you up."

"You...promise?"

"I promise. I promise I'll wake you up when everyone's leaving."

Quinn didn't talk for a bit, but then she looked at the other girl, her eyes saying that she knew Rachel was lying. But then her smiled, and nodded, her eyes beginning to shut close.

"Thanks Rachel...you're such..."

The brunette did not bother to press Quinn any further as the girl fell into slumber. Warm chocolate browns flickered over. Her breath stilled, watching Quinn's body move after each soft snore. Tiny webs of veins pronounced themselves around the sides of her face. Her skin was pallid, sunken and decayed. It was only a matter of time.

Rachel tightened her hold on the canteen propped right next to her. She rose silently, sitting up before clutching the handle with her small hands. Her hair was disheveled after being pulled from its chignon, her forehead pounding from a gash that had yet to be treated behind its cloth bandage.

Others shifted in their sleep, and some that was sitting nearby tilted their heads to watch her. She wiped the stray tears that slipped down her cheeks, and slowly wrapped the canteen strap around her palm. Quinn was still. Unmoving. Like she was already dead.

"What's she doing?" A girl's voice.

"'Ey!" She turned to look at a man with a red cap sitting near a mousy haired girl. "You alright, kid?"

A small grunt was heard, and then murmurs came from the other side of the hallway. Quinn shifted suddenly, her chin trembling as her head turned to the side. Rachel turned away, ignoring the man's hushed tone down the hallway. She raised the canteen up, poised right over the blonde's head.

Another grunt left blue lips, so tight and filled with mucus that Rachel wasn't fazed by the flow of white foam trailing down Quinn's chin. Saliva and blood spilled over her cheek after a loud cough, staining her gown. The girl's body began to convulse, trashing against her bed with an intensity that alarmed everyone.

A boy who woke up, scrambled off his makeshift bed with a curse, before he ran down the hallway, stumbling over bodies. One by one, people panicked and rose. They left their sleeping bags, some of them snatching their little children up to hold against their chest.

The boy who left his bed pummeled the front doors, his yells futile against the bullhorn outside. _"Sir. I'm going to ask you to please step back." _

"Let me out!"

Others yelled for the jock to come back. But he hollered back at them, his terror stricken voice a distant echo in Rachel's ears. His dark hair was plastered against his face, eyes red rimmed and wide. He went back to pound the locked doors.

"Open the fucking door!"

"_Sir. Take a step back."_

"What the fuck d'ya mean stand back? There's one of 'em in here!"

She could feel the terrified gazes of the others down on Quinn, before chaos ensued. The shuffling of bodies against the fabrics of their sleeping bags, as well as the stomping of shoes against the marbled floors never grasp her attention.

She felt her body shoved as people rushed by her, and she could hear the man's voice. But the doors broke open, and sunlight came in the hallway. It further heightened the screams, and the yells, and the panic. Bodies thrashed against her as they dashed toward the light, but she held her ground.

"_Get back in there!" _The voice was louder. _"All civilians must be contained in this building. Under no circu-"_

Gunshots rang inside the hallway, reverberating into the long space. She finally looked up, watching everyone cower under the influx of bullets inside. She could feel the ground vibrating, hear bullets ricochet off the walls, and see people fall. But she couldn't see the man anymore even though he swore she could still hear his voice among the stampede.

She heard breathing, rapid, and too fast for it to belong to a human being. A snarl tore her gaze away from crowd to the blonde. Colorless eyes staring back stiffened her, and narrowed into tiny slits. For a moment the irrational and stupid part of her wanted to hope, wanted to see if this was all a dream.

But she gripped the canteen in her hands, and threw it down Quinn's face with a force that caused a sickening thud.

* * *

Lima, Ohio

December 12th, 2015

**Four Years Later**

The leaking inside the cellar lifted her gaze away from the door. Droplets of water fell from a broken pipe above the ceiling, pooling into a corner near her bag. If she tried a little, maybe she could grab it. It was just within reach, a mere few inches from her hand. If she could just...

But his arm, as if knowing what she was thinking, held her back. She then focused on planked wood that trembled each second up the narrow staircase, and shut her eyes in frustration. Cringed at sweat skin pressed against her cheek and throat, at stale beer that left rotted teeth in each panted breath.

Nothing left her lips when the barrel of his gun touched the side of her nose, and when glass and porcelain crashed above them.

"If you move again I'll kill ya." She never responded, but gritted her teeth and stiffened when she felt the hem of her top lift. "Stay still."

A gun cocked dangerously up ahead, in a tall man's hands, pointed towards the opening. While a few rays of light traced a staircase, they flickered whenever shadowy figures dashed by in a frenzy, perusing the area, as if they already knew someone's hiding inside.

"Why the fuck aren't they gone?"

Shuffling coming from the right, didn't alarm them as a figure grabbed something from his bag. "Ask them."

"Do somethin', man! Ted let 'em-"

A loud bang shook the room, followed by another, but no one uttered a sound. A red haired, the one called Ted frantically loaded a pistol, almost letting it slip from his clammy fingers, before he aimed the door next to his taller crony.

Her eyes flickered back and forth over the two bandits and the door, her mind more concerned about escaping than a bunch of the crazies finding them. No more snarls came, and the doors stopped shaking. Soon the noises outside died down to small pants, and shuffling above them.

She wasn't fooled, because she knew that the crazies were trying to hear them. Those things were more faster than she'd remembered, more vicious than she'd ever imagined. And it's been too long since she's stayed trapped like this for more than a day, even if it's against her will. Any common person knows well enough to leave in less than a day before crazies came to look for them.

She was tugged again violently, but soon relieved when her captor pulled the gun away from her face to the door. "They left."

"Fuck off!" Ted snapped.

"They're gone." He insisted, dragging her across the room as he neared the two figures. "I can't hear any of those shits anymore. They left, so let's get going-"

A plank flung from the opening and crashed into the cellar, narrowly missing Rachel's head. Shrieks tore through the room. The door was shoved open, each pound sending planks topping down. They knew. Guns were fired, ricocheting off the stone steps and against the opened doorway. She felt herself shoved into a corner, and for a split second, opened her eyes to see the two armed men desperately firing the doorway as her captor joined them.

The crazies tore through the room, one of them tackling Ted on the ground. Her captor continued to shoot up front, forgetting that she was in a corner. She panicked, looking around to see a hiding spot. The small doorway behind had her legs moving. She was gone before the doorway was crowded by the others, ignoring the sounds of bowls and pans crashing on cold ground, glass shattering, and heavy footsteps tailing after her.

She knew that the cellar was huge, as was the mansion above it, and finding a small place to hide was no problem. An ajar door grasped her attention. She took a second look behind, relieved by the faded sounds before she locked herself inside.

Her hand clutched her beating chest, while the other felt grime and dust on the tiled floor of a bathroom. The distant howl of wind caught her attention, and over the ring of gunshots, tortured yells, and snarls, she looked up to see an opening above. It was a small, but big enough for her to slip through.

She felt the door explode behind her, and stiffened when her cheeks felt hot and the mirror in front of her broke down in shards. He was there, his face bloodied and marred, shouldering his way into the bathroom. She stepped over the toilet tank and grabbed the handle of the opening, ignoring the hot pain on her cheek where his bullet grazed.

"Get back here!"

_Shit. _It wasn't budging. Another gunshot narrowly missed her legs, holing the wall, and she turned back to pull the handle. Wood splintering and guns firing heightened her panic, before she finally wrenched the window open and grabbed grass and dirt.

But then the door broke down. She screamed and kicked when she felt her ankle begin squeezed, but her body was dragged through the small opening. She couldn't see anything with her hair all over her face, but sweat and cold braced hard on the back of her neck made her fight.

"Let go of me!" She screamed.

The man pressed his lips to her ear. "Shut up!"

He pulled her back inside, and narrowly avoided the mass of bodies fighting over Ted's abdomen. They moved for what felt like hours, before she saw another staircase. They were more narrowed, tucking in a small corner where no one would even notice. Her legs almost fell, but her captor hauled her and grabbed a door handle.

"Move it." She did, her gaze catching a body ridden with gnats, while rotting on a four poster bed before she was pulled into a long corridor.

They shuffled steps echoed in the hallway, far away from the cellar. They came into a kitchen, avoiding strewn utensils, opening drawers, and a collapsed fridge. She panted at the cold barrel grazing her lips, breathing metal. She knew he was panicking, making her stumble as he frantically tried to open the back door leading out into the garden. She couldn't breathe much. His arm was tight against her neck, so her small hands did their best to ease the grip.

"_Hold it!"_

He grabbed his gun, and turned both of them around to look at the figure standing in the kitchen. The barrel of a sniper was aimed next to her head. A soldier, stood near the kitchen's opening. She could tell that it was a woman, judging by the sound of her voice. But there was something about it that was familiar, it's huskiness, gently tugging her way back.

"Stand back, or I'll shoot!"

She didn't say anything, or paid her any attention. In a deadpan voice, she could tell that the soldier wasn't in the least fazed by her captor. "Put the gun down, Nathan."

"I'll shoot 'er!" He hollered, yanking her hair when the woman stepped forward. "I'll fucking blow her brains out!"

Then she stopped, cocking her head to the side. That was when she saw it, the eye over the black half mask. She was dragged again as Nathan inched back against the back door. Through dark strands, she squinted her eyes more to catch what was wrong with the soldier's eyes, but Nathan pulled her again.

"You're unarmed."

"I have a gun, you cunt."

The soldier's eyes gleamed, and continued to speak in a gentle jeer. "You just ran outta bullets. Other than that, maybe one or two. But I know you're not going to shoot her."

More gunshots were heard clearly in the mansion, echoing through large corridors and rooms. They were louder, and faster, like the ones she heard four years ago. The crazies were dying, their screeches and snarls fading as armed soldiers barreled through the building. The stranger's eyes gleamed, glossing over as the gun cocked.

Her windpipe tightened the more Nathan squeezed her neck, but her hands helped her breathe. She could sense his panic, his fear, but then she looked at the women and it all came crashing down. That left eye...it was like theirs. For a moment, she wasn't sure if she wanted the soldier to save her.

"You wanna know why?" The woman asked, and for the first time, took a short glance at the brunette as she took a first step.

_I've seen her before._

"Stand back." He warned.

"You and your cronies were hungry, and you found her." She continued to walk, prompting Nathan to step backwards while he kicked glass shards aside. "If you kill her, I assure you that you'll never leave this house with your head intact."

_I know her._

"But let's say maybe you got lucky." This was her chance. She looked down at her captor's foot, snug in dingy walking sneakers that wore out after years of walking. "Let's say maybe you manage to get through that door and run."

He started stepping back, tugging her limp form.

"You'll still starve and spend months looking for another victim to dine on with no weapon and no one to help you. Are you sure you'll handle that?"

"You don't know shit-"

A scream tore from his throat when the brunette suddenly stomped down as hard as she could with her boot. She quickly bent down, wincing at the shards below as she crawled into a corner. A gunshot came a quick as she dropped to the floor, and Nathan bloodied face came into view.

She shuddered, watching blank eyes that rolled over. She didn't move when the soldier moved, crouching in front of her. She let out a hand. "You okay,?"

She nodded and grabbed a gloved hand. "I'm fine."

"Good. I'm glad you're okay, hobbit."

It wasn't the insult that made her look back into those mismatched eyes, but the voice behind it. She knows that voice, like the back of her hand. She frowned, trying to remember a girl she knew with mismatched eyes like this one. One a dark brown and the other, colorless. But nothing came up. Yet the voice was so familiar, in its gentle yet mocking undertone.

Soon, she saw the woman's cheeks rise under dark cloth, making both orbs twinkle gently. A gloved hand crept up to the edge of the fabric, pulling it down for her to see. She didn't know whether to be happy, or frightened, but she was damn glad to see this woman.

Her lips stretch out into a smile. "Santana..."

"Rachel."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews! Loved them and hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**The Sun Goes Out**

The breeze was cool, although murky, whipping her hair about her face. She watched abandoned stores and buildings pass by as the vehicle slowed on a hill. Army trucks and soldiers were parked in front of abandoned and decayed buildings, with masked men hauling yellow trash bags unto large trucks. The driver said that they did it to get rid of any trace of the virus, since no crazies stepped foot in the bordered New York City.

When she was here for Nationals, she could barely stay calm from the city smells, people, and sky high towers. Lights were everywhere, blinking and colorful, adorning immense billboard signs and vacant stores. She could remember the rush of people congested on wide streets, of Time Square, and little details like the carriages that sailed around Central Park and the Metropolitan Museum.

She didn't expect to see the same going back, but nothing soothed the shock she felt watching a different New York. A dead city. A nothingness filled with no lights, faded out boards, run down buildings, and no sign of life.

Rachel couldn't keep herself from looking at the woman across the truck, who watched her with a small smile on her lips. Santana's dark hair fell over her toned shoulders from a low pony, while it touched a part of a tattoo Rachel couldn't make out. She was leaner, as shown on her face, with her smile a little kinder than it was the day Quinn died. But her eyes were no longer the same, the left one a colorless orb, ringed with red and tiny webs of dark veins over tanned skin and the other, her normal color.

_What happened to you, Santana?_

"I thought you died. With the others."

She wasn't surprised. Everyone thought that the people in the school were lead peacefully out, as stated by the _heroic _police officers. Her chest tightened at the sound of chief on the radio, lying through his teeth like a slithering snake. Everyone is safe and sound, the school is empty and shut down. Memories rushed back, of her in that crowded hallway, watching people gunned down because of a cruel cover up by those who were meant to protect them.

She smiled bitterly. "McKinley was quarantined."

The soldier sat there for a moment, her expression unreadable. But Rachel saw the smile she held earlier, turn down gradually as if this was just sinking in.

"But the reporters said you guys were evacuated safely."

Rachel shook her head. "They locked the doors and shut the electricity down. When Azimio tried to escape, they shot him down."

Santana leaned forward, "What about the others?"

"Finn killed them."

She turned away, focusing on silver as the truck picked up over an empty highway. She watched the New York skyline and let the whirring noise of them over the Washington bridge drown out the silence, ignoring the stunned look over her friend's face.

When Santana slowly went back to the passenger seat next to the driver, Rachel couldn't help the drop her heart took in saying those words out loud, delving into another nightmare. _Funny. _She used to imagine it was someone else who tore into the room and mauled all of her friends, that way, it made the nightmare less horrific.

* * *

She imagined being here in this place under different circumstances. With her Tonys all stacked up and agents booking for her to stay in the most lavish hotels before she schedules for photo shoots and interviews. She remembered herself scribbling away in her journal of these things, filling blank pages with detailed plans on living Broadway. She never thought she'd be here to see the Waldorf Astoria as a safe zone, slowly moving in a queue of dozens in what used to be the lobby.

"Smile for the camera."

Her lips barely twitched when a bright flash made her wince, the officer quickly placed her photo id in her hand and ushered her off to the examination table. There were people huddled in small corners of the room. Some spoke quietly with the officers taking their pictures for photo ids, while others were prodded and questioned as they were being checked but on sight nurses.

She barely remembered her eyes being checked over, or having her blood pressure taken, but then one look at a syringe poised over her arm and she lost it.

"What's that?"

The woman blinked. "A syringe."

"You're not putting that thing in me."

"Ma'am, you have no choice."

She noticed Santana coming out from one corner, but didn't pay attention. The nurse looked like she wasn't having it, but Rachel would be damned before she let someone stab her with something she didn't even know about. She's put enough trust in the law already, and ever since she was trapped in her own school, she didn't need any more to give them.

Santana's hands were on her shoulder while she hollered at the woman who tried to reason with her like a parent would a baby. She wasn't stupid, and she could care less if everyone in the room was looking at her like they would a wild animal. "Take it easy." A hushed voice along with the scent of roses made her calm down, while she kept her eyes on the nurse who scowled in return. Rachel watched Santana amble her way over to the blonde, speaking in a low tone to her, wearing dark tank top over her cargo pants and boots.

"Just do it."

"But-"

"_Janice._" Santana tried again, her voice hard. "She's not going to let you touch her without putting up a fight. Give me the syringe."

Janice huffed and shoved the needle in the woman's hand, moving on to give another person a physical. Rachel kept her narrowed gaze on the syringe, but didn't flinch when Santana prepared it. She smelled the rubbing alcohol, feeling the wet cotton swab rub over her upper arm.

"It's an antibiotic, don't worry about it." Santana muttered, her gaze warm as Rachel felt the sharp pain.

"There you go. All done."

Rachel sighed. "Thank you."

Santana hummed. "How did you stay alive?"

Santana disposed the syringe, pressing a piece of gauze over Rachel's arm before covering it with a bandage. She didn't look expectantly at Rachel, who hesitated before finding her voice. "I find good hiding spots. And those things hate less crowded areas...they dislike the sunlight...so it's easy to be on my own."

"Until those guys followed you."

"No. I was the one who followed them." She said, looking down over her lap. "They had a stash of food I needed, so I tried to get some when they left their campfire. But it was a trap. And that's where you came into the picture."

The soldier smirked in acknowledgment and motioned for her to stand.

"What happened to the others?" Rachel asked.

Santana paused, her body tense. Rachel wondered if this was the best time to ask Santana this question among so many people, but then the soldier resumed moving, and she couldn't help but recall a different Santana. The one who sauntered out the choir room with Brittany by her side, scolding Puck who whined about being dragged along to watch two girls buy snacks instead of making out.

"They didn't make it."

The petite woman watched her move around to fix a few things, frowning at the way she responded with very little. But she knew that Santana was hurting just as much as she did, seeing her only friends die before her, or worse...

She didn't want to think about that notion, but it was possible that it could have happened. When Santana turned again, Rachel couldn't help but wonder whether or not Puck and Brittany dying had to do with her mismatched eyes.

"They say it's rude to stare." Santana said.

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat it." A warm hand enclosed her cold ones, and eyes scanned Rachel slowly. "You might get uncomfortable, but I have to say, you look really good."

Rachel squeezed back. "You too...where did you get your perfume?"

Santana stared at the petite woman for a moment, eyes dazed, before she caught on to her words. "Oh! New York has loads of abandoned malls. I get to shoplift for a good cause."

She laughed. "Shame on you."

They sat there in silence for a moment, staring at each other. She knew that they were both thinking the same thing. Here they were, four years later, acting as if they were long lost friends. They were never that close in the past, taking their relationship for granted.

Now, it's all they had to have that sense of peace in their lives. It came rushing down, the reunion feels. The feeling of having a piece of home again. The back of her eyes burned. She wasn't ashamed to allow the soldier to pull her into a warm hug, among the people who looked in curiosity.

She felt lips press against her ear. "I'm so glad to see you again."

Rachel nodded. "I know. I'm glad too."

* * *

_Rachel?_

No words left her lips. Quinn was smiling, but she could tell that the look on her face made the blonde frown. Her hair shone under the light, her hazel eyes bright yet confused. Amongst the chatter and the laughter, Rachel could only watch the door lites behind Quinn. And behind them, Finn had both hands pressed on glass, his dark eyes targeting her friend.

_Rachel, what's wrong?_

"Rachel?"

It was the smell of coffee that brought back to reality. She blinked slowly, watching a little boy with dark hair smile up at her. She returned the gesture enthusiastically and accepted the small Styrofoam cup in her hand, thanking him before he nodded happily and left.

They were sitting in a circle, those who were saved around the same time she was. She kept her eyes on all victims, most older than her, one a late teenager, and some of them as young as that little boy who gave her the coffee. Those children were the ones she looked at the most; unlike the young boy, they were either huddled in their seats or too far gone to pay attention.

"Are you alright?"The counselor, a middle aged woman named Vicky asked her. "I hope the coffee is good, I'm afraid we ran out of sugar again."

"No it's fine. I like it this way."

Vicky clasped her hands together. "Great. Let's begin."

Everyone introduced themselves, with Vicky encouraging them to continue when they began to falter. All of a sudden, Rachel regretted agreeing to attend the mandatory session, feeling her palms go sweaty as a dark haired woman introduced herself as Rebecca. They were getting closer to her as much to her discomfort, but she sat until she heard her name called.

She stood. "Good evening everyone..."

"Would you tell us your name?"

_Where are you, Santana?_

"My name is Rachel Berry..."

The door behind the group opened before she said anything else. An ashen haired soldier stood calmly by the door, expectantly waiting for her to start moving. It would have been possible if she knew who the hell this guy was. "Ms. Berry, we'd like to speak to you for a moment." He said, then looking at the group. "Sorry for the intrusion."

"Not a problem Thomas."

He was waiting for her, his face holding a cruel edge. Rachel decided that she didn't like this man one bit, but she bid everyone goodbye, and followed Thomas out the room. They walked for short minutes, with Thomas's hands on her upper arm. It was firm, as if it was ready for her to try to escape. They went down the large corridor, past chipped walls and high alters, with Rachel wondering when they were going to stop.

"Do you happen to know where we're going?"

He nodded curtly. "To the gymnasium."

They went down long steps, until opened high double doors leading into a gymnasium stood before them. And that's when she heard it. The noises. From afar, it sounded like arguing. Hissed and sharp, one from a man's voice and the other, Santana's.

"What's going-"

"Step inside, Ms. Berry."


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee._

**Author's Note:** So like I got this good chance this weekend. I was still on a difficulty level with my other story, so I decided to work on this latest chapter. Don't have much time. Still typing away for the next chapter each time I get from school. I'm really busy, but when inspiration flocks in, there's no stopping me. I also wanted to say thank you so much to my wonderful beta, Catty Jay, who betaed the chapter for me! Thanks a bunch!

* * *

**The Sun Goes Out**

The first thing she smelt was something worse than rubbing alcohol. Antiseptic. It was cold. Her breath fogged as she strode inside, not stopping to look behind her just to make sure a barrel of a rifle wasn't pointed to her back.

The arguing voices grew louder, but she could tell they weren't real because of a faint static in the background. She let her eyes roam over beeping monitors and tape recorders on every wall of what used to be the gymnasium. Several images greeted her, most with her closest friend in the hotel as the main subject.

Santana was nowhere in the building, but she was on every monitor and recorder in the room. It all felt wrong, seeing Santana and hearing her on tape all around. Everything in her screamed to flee the room, but Thomas was right behind her, and it was no use putting herself in that danger. So she sat by the table, nauseated by antiseptic and the officers standing in the middle of the room who watched her cautiously.

From the corner of her eye she could see a small monitor showing Santana inside a small confinement, pounding away at a punching bag. She looked like just any other soldier exercising, but there was something off. She just couldn't put her finger on it. There were other screens that had the woman laughing with one of her friends, or talking to the children in the counsel center with a soothing voice.

The longer Rachel watched these snippets of her friend's life, the more her chest tightened, contradicting the calm demeanor she held in order to appear unfazed by the madness that had taken over every wall of the gym. Santana was in every imaginable normalcy of daily life, but Rachel's beating heart told her it all seemed wrong. The woman's movements were too fast, voice too deep, even eyes too alert.

Rachel watched Thomas flank a taller woman's side, her gaze pinpointing the obvious leader who stood in the middle upfront. He had more badges stamped on his uniform than any of the others.

"Have a seat, Ms. Berry. I just sent Thomas here to bring you here for questioning. You don't mind, do you?" he asked, sitting adjacent to her by the table with a small smile. "You seem very uncomfortable being here with us."

"Why are you spying on Santana?"

The leader's smile vanished, and suddenly her instinct to leave the room was overwhelming. Rachel could tell by the surprised look on all their faces that she wasn't supposed to be here. These people wanted something from her, but she didn't have what they were looking for.

He laughed, "I wouldn't call it spying, Ms. Ber-"

"It's spying when you secretly tape someone without letting them know." Her voice rose. "I know you can't force me to say anything, but you're asking the wrong person. I'm as clueless as you all are."

The leader was on her before she moved to get up, forcing her to sit back down. All smiles were gone and she got to see the real face behind the facade. She's seen this face before in the cannibals who tried to kill her before the crazies invaded the mansion. He tried again with a wider smile, but she was already far over the edge, "Well, perhaps you might want to enlighten us on your friend's eye. Know anything about how she got it?"

Rachel wrenched her hand free, "And why should that matter?"

_Why should it? _

"Because, we'd like to make you an offer, Ms. Berry," he said, his hands still ready to grab her if she dared escape. "You're one of her closest friends. High school, am I right?"

"What's your offer?"

The man eyed her quietly, "You truly don't trust anyone."

She looked at the front of his suit, "Lieutenant Grier. I have no information you're seeking concerning my friend. You have no offer that's valuable to me. If you want me to spy on Santana then you have to tell me what you've been planning. There's no way I'll work without a little background in mind."

He smirked, "How do I know if you're lying?"

"This world knows no loyalties lieutenant," she said.

He slowly nodded, "That's funny. I bet you won't feel so loyal when we tell you what we've gotten."

She looked up to see that the others were looking uncomfortable, clearly not wanting the lieutenant to tell her what was going on. He looked over his shoulder quietly, this small move enough to stop the others from trying to object to the decision. He looked back at Rachel, waving his hand absently to prompt a crony to pass him a file. He took it, placed it on the table, opened it, and spread the pictures inside over the cool surface. All were gray scale photos of three familiar faces in the hotel.

Puck. Brittany. Santana.

"The blonde and the young man mysteriously caught the virus on a rescue mission. They only spent one month in the hotel, and then died."

"Where did they die?"

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that your friend was in the same room with them, along with three other crazies..." He leans forward. "...miraculously she makes it alive. Comes home. And in short months, she's the general of this entire fleet."

He straightened all the pictures and pushed the file. towards Rachel. "It takes years to rise up the ranks. Your friend took five months because of her sudden strength. She can kill someone with a flick of her wrist, shoot with high accuracy, and survive gunshots over her body."

He said that, before adding, "Take this, and don't read it until I send you another file next week."

Thomas came forward to the lieutenant, who gestured towards Rachel with a flick of the hand.

"Get her out of here."

* * *

The sun shone brightly through the fogged windows, a bright blur over the corridors of the top floor. Rachel held the file close to her chest, walking straight ahead until she found the room number they told her to look for, isolated in that one area because no other tenants reportedly lived on this floor except for the tenant in that room.

Through instinct, she let her eyes survey her premises before she slipped inside, heading towards the bedroom that wasn't so far away. It was around in the afternoon, way past noon, and it was recreation time for the tenants in the abandoned pool. There was a party for all the children whose birthdays were in the month of September, with balloons piled up in the air and confetti for after the candles were blown out.

She knew that a number of the soldiers left out to Pennsylvania to find more survivors and would be back in three days. This meant that that was enough time for her to try to search Santana's room in order to find anything to make her case. She wasted no time. Soon, she was all over the soldier's drawers, searching small articles of clothing that were just parts of uniform.

She placed the file on the woman's dinner table, entering the bathroom to search through the medicine cabinet. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she wanted something that wasn't supposed to be there. The sound of pebble skittering inside the containers made Rachel caught herself, before she decided to look more closely in the cabinet. On each line, stood rows of prescription containers and syringe kits filled with an amber liquid.

_Syringe. _

"What're you doing here?" She turned immediately, dropping a container on the floor. The voice was coming from afar, for no one stood in her view outside the bathroom in the hallway. The only thing that was visible was the file on the dinner table, with a shadow right beside it.

"Answer me! What the fuck are you doing in there?"

She didn't know why she was so frightened of the voice alone. A voice that was Santana's, but was deeper, back dropped by hurried pants. There was also the sound of something dripping, but Rachel didn't know what. "Where are you, Santana?"

Silence.

"Santana?"

A door slowly creaked on its hinges, and footsteps began to grow louder. A dark figure slipped out of the hallway leading into the bathroom where Rachel stood. It was her, in her uniform and gear, with her half-mask on. Rachel slowly looked at the way the fabric of the mask soiled with an icky substance, seeing the small drops of crimson pooling a little over the carpet. Still, she didn't dare move even thought she was so frightened. She knew this wasn't a time to move.

She watched the woman's hands, gazing at the pallid tone of its original color. Then she braved herself and looked right into Santana's eyes, both a colorless surface. It hit her then, that Santana wasn't herself at this moment.

"Rachel. I'm sick."

She nodded, the back of her eyes burning at the realization. "I know."

Cheeks behind the mask rose, as if the woman smiled sadly, but it quickly vanished. Rachel then walked forward, attempting to wrap her arms around Santana, who quickly stepped back and pointed at her front door tiredly. That was when Rachel saw it, the scar over her other hand.

"Where-"

"I need my syringe. Pick up your stuff and go," Santana said quickly through hurried breaths.

She had nothing to take with her, so she quietly walked down the hallway, not looking once into Santana's direction. The manila folder caught her attention. She contemplated giving the file to Santana, who said silently, "Leave the file. I need to take a look at it."

There was no objection. It was clear that if Rachel dared tried to get the file, Santana would snatch it before she did. Or worse. She touched the doorknob, pausing to turn to look at the lone figure by the wall.

"Santana. It's not what it looks like-"

"Just _go._"

The hand that rose to cut her off sliced more than her words. Rachel felt the tears trailing down, wondering whether she should cry for trying to betray her friend out of a need to know what happened, or whether her friend was a walking dead woman.

She locked the door before getting out, and once she closed it, she retreated to her room. Her bed was the first that welcomed her with its softness. Once she rested amongst plush pillows, she sobbed quietly until the sun set.

* * *

_Rachel?_

_What?_

Hazel eyes pinned her down as the two girls lay face to each other in the hallway over their beds. Quinn was getting more pale, and now, she had tiny vein circling around her eyes. Rachel noticed this, but as she did two hours before, she ignored it. She smiled back when the blonde smiled at her, reaching out to touch her hand. But then the hand stopped moving, and the smile on Quinn's face wavered. The hand slowly withdrew back, slipping back under the cocoon of the bed.

"Ms. Berry?"

She blinked, no longer seeing Quinn in front of her. Everyone in the group therapy session watched her closely, waiting for her to talk. It's been too long attending without even talking about how she got over here. Every day in these sessions she would always tell the counselor to pick someone else. But this time, she could tell that that wasn't an option. Either she spoke as required to show a sign of respect, or she'd find her bags, pack, and get out of the only safe zone in Lower Manhattan.

"Yes?"

The brunette across from her watched her calmly behind lenses, "You have yet to share your story."

Rachel didn't say anything. She let her eyes roam the crowd, stopping over a little girl who sat in a fetal position on a chair. The girl looked back with her blue eyes, waiting like the others, never knowing that she struck a clear resemblance to the friend she killed. "You look a lot like my friend."

The girl blinked, pointing to herself, "Me?"

"Mm-hm. But your eyes aren't the same." Rachel smiled softly, prompting the same gesture from the child whose story was the most terrifying. "Yet you both have the same hair. And you're beautiful."

The girl blushed, hiding a creeping smile that threatened to take the most of her face by bowing her head. "Thanks." Then the girl frowned. "Where's your friend?"

The boy, Marty, who gave her the coffee earlier, perked up in his seat next to an elder woman. Rachel willed down the emotions, thinking about Santana, the only friend she had left in this existence. She thought about the pictures of Puck and Brittany, both kissing the soldier's cheek as she laughed.

Puck was in his uniform like the soldiers here, but his hair grew a little and his beard bushy and shaped nicely. There were dark circles under his eyes, yet he still had that Puckerman charm to him. Brittany's hair was at her chin, pinned by a beautiful clip. She was also dressed in uniform, but only donned a singlet over cargo pants. She would have loved to see them one last time.

She would have wanted to be less nervous on her graduation, maybe say something less about her performance. Maybe she shouldn't have waited so long to properly say goodbye to Mercedes, who left and never came back. Or Artie. Mr. Schue...

"Rachel? Do you need to take a break?"

She shook her head, taking a shuddering breath before she began to cry. "I'm sorry," Murmurs of acceptance poured out, making more tears slip down.

"Was your friend infected?" the counselor, Vicky, asked.

Rachel took another deep breath. "My boyfriend was sick. He left out to grab some medicine. My friend was trying to calm me down because we were supposed to sing at graduation. He was gone for so long...then he came back.

"By that time my friend locked the doors. But his hands broke through the door...I didn't realize she was bitten until the rest of us who got out listened to the radio in the auditorium. I didn't want to believe it. But I knew she didn't have much time left..."

Vicky waited before she took her chance, "You killed your friend."

Rachel frowned, her hands trembling before she took control of them. Scenes from her memories wafted up. The feeling of not being able to breath, of trying to gain footing amongst crowds of people, of running away from showering bullets.

"I tried to."

"What happened?" Vicky asked.

The bell rang, indicating that the session was over. But everyone was still seated, waiting for Rachel to continue. "She was crying...but she kept on trying to attack me."

"And you kept on trying to kill her."

"With a canteen..." Rachel said, looking down at her hands. "She'd cry while it took over...while I kept on hitting her. Then some of the men found out, and came to help...she kept on saying, 'It's me, Rachel. It's Quinn.'."

Vicky looked at if she saw a ghost, "And they finished her off."

She nodded shakily, "But she bit one of them...then the virus spread. The officers had us quarantined in the school where I attended, but the doors broke open. They kept on shooting at us...it didn't matter whether or not toddlers were trying to find their parents, or a twelve year old pleaded for her life. They just kept on shooting, and shooting...I ran as fast as I could."

She looked up, relieved to see that there weren't any looks of judgment. The blonde child looked back with that same sense of understanding she yearned to see. "You had no choice."

Rachel never responded to Vicky. The counselor called for everyone to leave then, with the blonde girl scrambling towards Rachel's direction. She didn't know this child, but through instinct, she spread her arms open and hugged her tightly as she did. As everyone else poured out of the room, she held the little stranger close.

Footsteps caught her attention. She looked behind her to see Santana standing by the door, her eyes red rimmed in the darkness of the corridor. Only her left eye was colorless, and her skin was back to its normal shade. She then folded her arms, and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee_

**A/N:** Here is the next chapter. Thanks so much to Catty Jay again for betaing. Writing the next one right now. Please comment and responses are below.

* * *

**The Sun Goes Out**

It took three weeks, four days, and ten hours to remember what the lieutenant asked her to do. It took that long to feel her heart ache more, and that long to realize the man spoke the truth. She didn't know what exactly was wrong with Santana; but once she decided to look out her window and witness the morning drill for the soldiers, she let the possibilities roam. Santana was stronger, more alert, and extremely deadly, posing a threat to everyone in the safe zone.

One slip in the routine, one slip from taking her medicine from a syringe would kill her and the tenants. Gunshots filled the compound, harmless during the practice range. Her face void of expression, Santana practiced through her drills. But Rachel started to wonder if the lieutenant was taping the soldier now.

In what was called the half lot, which meant the training ground took over half of what used to be the parking lot, rounds of gunfire crackled continuously. There was a dummy up ahead, and each soldier had to shoot the red dot on the dummy. Most of the others never managed to get two inches away from the dot, but it was only Santana who hit the mark each time.

Each and every time.

And around her, Rachel noted the questions flickering in all gazes, from those people who were soldiers just like Santana. The chillness of the room began to set in, making Rachel further wrap the blanket around her despite the fact that she wore a sweatshirt over jeans and had on sneakers. Goosebumps rose not just because of the cold, but because there were so many of those soldiers watching Santana closely hit the mark each time she shot.

They told her that Puck and Brittany weren't here for that long before they were killed, with Santana as the only survivor of the attack. She never remembered Puck being enthusiastic about being a soldier, and she wasn't sure if Brittany understood orders. It's more remarkable that the blonde managed to survive this long, because all this time Rachel thought she must have been killed. Maybe Brittany changed over those years, just like she did, even though it's not for the best.

The shots continued, and in each round she ruminated about a lot of things. Questioning out loud, and knowing that the woman below won't ever hear.

What are you, Santana?

_What the hell are you?_

* * *

On a school night, no one but Rachel noticed that the usual night guard didn't stand by that evening. She never saw his face, for he was always seen from a distance through her window. But she knew that he was tall, in stark contrast with the slightly shorter soldier who guarded the gates into the hotel. She usually wouldn't pay much attention to details like this, but something tugged her to ask Marty about the night guard who stood by the gates every night.

"Oh, you mean Mr. Tommy?" Little Marty said in his sing song tone, she playfully ruffled his hair while they rested in the lobby, waiting for his next class to begin on the second floor. "He's the guy who asked you to follow him the other day, remember?"

She paused, "I remember."

The bell rang.

Without thinking, she leaned down to put a small peck on Marty's forehead, accepting a warm hug from the boy people often mistook for her own son. He was off like a dynamite until he turned into a bright red speck in the hallway, slipping inside the recreation center turned classroom

Three days after the new guard took post, three more soldiers no longer occupied the high towers a few buildings away. Some of the counselors on the third floor told her that the soldiers just left all of a sudden, so they were immediately replaced by new ones.

She recalled one time where she saw one of the soldiers around the early morning. She could tell that the soldier was a woman, who had a build similar to the one she saw standing not too far from the lieutenant. It took that memory to realize that the soldiers who were slowly disappearing had been executed.

Three weeks later, four more of them suddenly disappeared, yet no one made so much as a cough, or even blinked. Rachel paid closer attention to the people in the hotel, and this time she saw that their nonchalant looks weren't really convincing. They knew what was happening, and it was clear that they've experienced this before.

Her mind wandered off to that file she left with Santana, her instincts tingling for her to start looking over her shoulder. There weren't many drills during the month she didn't see Santana, and they were deeply connected to the soldier's absence. She tried to visit her friend, but was stunned when a guard professed that the room was empty, and Santana moved up the floor.

The only time she saw Santana was when a new flock of survivors arrived a week ago, most too stricken with fear to speak. Santana was extremely pale, seated in the far corner of the lobby with two medics stitching up her right arm with more protective clothing than the other medics. She tried to approach her, but two armed men immediately ordered her to step back. The soldier never looked up.

One night, she paced inside her room after taking a hot shower. In nothing but jeans and a shirt, she let the breezy air flutter her hair about. She wrapped her arms around herself before the sizzling of boiling water from the coffee maker brought her back to herself. But it wasn't just that. There was something else. After she poured herself a cup, she stopped to listen again.

Knocking.

It wasn't fast, but heavy against her door. She walked over and looked through the peeping hole, catching glimpse of dark hair. "It's me." _Santana._

When she opened the door, her friend was still leaning against the side, quietly gazing at the smaller woman. She nodded toward the room, gesturing at Rachel still standing in her way. "Can I come in?"

The brunette caught herself before nodding, "Oh. Su-sure, you can come in."

Santana brushed past her, stopping near the coffee table in the living room. Under the dim light, Rachel waited quietly for her friend to say something. Anything. Anything to make her feel less guilty that she already did. But Santana still looked through the window from her spot, as if she was trying to come up with the best words to tell Rachel.

She waved to a small couch, "Can you sit?"

Rachel blinked, but did as Santana asked, slowly lowering herself onto the seat. The soldier sighed, before sitting herself down next to the smaller woman, inching a little closer. Rachel didn't know what else happened, because one minute she's making room for Santana, and the next, Santana's eyes immediately flicker dangerously.

"I can't infect you, if that's what you're thinking," she said.

Rachel hesitated, shaking her head, "No, it isn't."

"Then why are you acting like you can't sit right next to me?"

Her brows furrowed, before realization set in, "I don't like what you're implying-"

"Implying what?" The soldier frowned, glaring daggers at the small woman across from her. "That you're just like one of those sons of bitches who think-"

"Don't judge me, Santana," Rachel fired back. "Don't sit there and think you know me, because you don't. I did what I could to stay alive without anyone's help. Not even yours. So don't sit there and try to accuse me of seeing you any differently!" Santana said nothing. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave. I don't need anyone here anymore."

Santana was one step ahead of her when she calmly grabbed her wrist and pulled her down closer. She did it a little too hard, and was then inches from the smaller woman, whose breath mingled with hers. Rachel immediately gazed back at the woman, whose heady perfume and lips drew her in. And just like that, she leaned forward to kiss Santana softly, melting when a hand gripped the back of her neck and pulled her closer.

As soon as it began, she abruptly stopped when she realized what she was doing. But she sat still, tracing cheekbones and soft skin when her friend spoke. "Rachel."

"What?"

"You're the only one left," She said quietly, before grabbing smaller hands. "I take a shot on my left eye everyday because if I don't, I might turn this whole hotel into a fucking army. I can't sleep normally without my heart beating like its hurting my chest. I think about shooting myself in the head all the time, but I get worried that I'll still see all this shit even when I'm lying on the floor with blood all over. I wouldn't be of any use like that, so I choose to do this. Save people. Try to make my life -or what's fucking left of it...meaningful."

She let go, and turned in her seat, shoulders hunched forward with his head in her hands,

A low buzz sounded in the air, before tanned hands quickly snatched something from the table. When her hands moved up, Rachel noted the struggled gnat in between the soldier's thumb and finger. She held it for a little while, before letting it drop to the floor. Rachel laid a hand on the soldier's shoulders, moving forward to rest her head. Santana felt so warm, but there was a loud thumping of her friend's heart, almost making her flinch in shock. Her head wasn't against her friend's heart. But she could feel it alive and well, beating hard against her.

"You might think you're one of them," she said, invaded by flashes of the pounding fear she felt before her friend saved her from those cannibals. "But maybe...maybe, I see a hero, Santana."

Her friend never responded, but Rachel felt her form tense the more. She thought about Thomas, and those others who went missing, racking up several possibilities. But it didn't do much to quell her dread, so she let the scent of hot brewed coffee and her friend's sweet perfume intermingled with uniform lull her into deep thought.

"Santana?"

A pause, then an answer, "Mm?"

"What happened to Brittany and Puck?" she asked quietly, licking her lips. "What really happened when you went on that rescue mission?"

A pause.

"It was a training exercise." Rachel frowned. _That wasn't what he said. _Santana shifted a little, but not enough to push her friend off.

"Puck was trained here, then sent over to Texas to watch the others in action. He was already good with the guns, but they told him that he still needed more training. Britt was just a medic, and I just started training. But they still used me because one of the soldiers died in the last mission."

Rachel swallowed, "What happened?"

The thumping grew faster, but Santana sat still. "Something happened...I'm not sure what but, it got Puck worked up because Britt was in the house tending to the wounded. He rushed in the house we were stationed nearby, and I went after him..."

"What did you see?"

It was too loud. Her heartbeats. So loud that Santana immediately sat up. Rachel waited, watching her friend look down at her hands that trembled uncontrollably. Her dark brows were deeply furrowed, as if she was trying to remember something. "I can't remember anything. I can't..." She was breathing quickly.

"You don't ha-"

Santana grabbed her hands, tugging Rachel forward enough to look her straight in the eye. She was breathing quickly, closing her eyes to will the panic forming in the back of her throat. "Rachel...there are things I want to tell you. But I can't right now...I just want you to know that it isn't what it seems here."

"I don't understand."

Santana nodded, "It's not just the lieutenant. Don't trust anyone. Keep the boy...and the girl -the one that looks like mini Quinn- keep her close. But don't let them know that something's going on."

"But-"

"Rachel. _Please._"

Rachel searched mismatched eyes for guidance, but they showed her nothing. She was blind. She had no choice but to use her friend's arm to lead her. "Alright. I will."

Santana nodded slowly. "I'm leaving for Florida tomorrow. When I get back, I'll let you know about everything."

She understood.

"Come back soon."

Her friend smiled. "I will."

She couldn't trust anyone.

_Only the children._

She jumped forward to hug Santana tightly, closing her eyes that burned. She can't cry now. As the two women sat silently in each other's arms, they moved.

Those things in packs, snarling in the darkness of night. Miles away, they skidded over cans and trash, anything that wasn't flesh. They broke through abandoned stores and vendor carts, dashing up the track ways in the Newark Penn Station.

They continued running over eerily silent railroads, grouped together in search of what had all of them on their feet. They didn't care how long they ran, only that they finally get around that border they smelled miles away.

Once they emptied out of the station, a dark haired man with red-rimmed eyes left his hiding place. In heavily guarded clothing, he smirked a little and hung his duffel bag over his shoulder, before walking in the opposite direction, dark combat boots against the empty road of West Market Street. The smoke from his cigar trailed off into the dark skies, wafting of pimento berries. He knew he'd probably attract them with the smell and his whistling, but he had his ways to get around.

For now, that god damned trip had to wait.

* * *

Beetie liked ponies and chrysanthemums because they reminded her of long warm summers in a lake house she still couldn't really remember. She enjoyed reading, and learning about the solar system because her life dream was to find a way for the uninfected to find a nice place in another planet. She was quiet and shy, never speaking up in classes unless she was asked to. And from the moment Beetie hugged her in last week's group therapy session, Rachel knew she was hooked.

Rachel was half listening to the lecture in the lounge area, while Marty was nestled comfortably in her arms. Beetie was perched up on her seat, pale legs barely touching the floor because they were folded up over cool cherry oak. Her limp blonde mane was tucked behind her small ear, falling over every few seconds.

_Keep all rooms locked up in case of any emergencies. _Blonde strands fell again, but Rachel reached over to scoop up the child's hair before the she had the chance. Beetie smiled shyly, and looked back at the lieutenant who stood on the platform behind a podium. _Keep your intercoms working for late announcements tonight about the attempted breach._

"We're not sure who or what tried to break through the gates last night," he said, eyes scanning avidly through the masses that filled the grand hall to the brim. "But just for safety's sake, keep an eye out for anything."

Beetie's eyes widened before whispering, "Do you think it's the crazies?"

Marty stirred in his sleep, so Rachel gestured for Beetie to move back, continuing to fish braid the child's hair. Her instinct was to lie, but in this existence, she couldn't afford to lie to this girl whose trauma surpassed her own. "They know the area's locked up because of something."

The child nodded.

"There. All done."

Beetie said, "Thanks, Ms. Berry."

The boy in her arms blinked his eyes open, but still stayed in his spot as Lieutenant Grier stepped down from the stage. His very aura dripped with charisma, attracting the stray bees in the crowd who often stopped him for a chat. She noted that he was still searching through the crowd, trying to find someone...her.

She didn't attempt to avoid him. It was impossible to ignore the very person who was hailed as a hero for building the safe zone that saved three hundred and forty one citizens in the first six months after the virus outbreak.

As soon as he spotted her, she was taken aback by how pale he had gotten. He drew closer to her, noting the little girl who shifted a bit more closer to Rachel. "Ms. Berry, it's been quite some time? How are you?"

He spoke in a more huskier voice, but she didn't pay much attention to that. It's just that he seemed more exhausted, yet still had that energy about him. But unlike most in the hall, she knew him for who he truly was, and wasn't charmed by him.

"I'm doing well."

He nodded, "Enjoying your stay over here. That's lovely to hear. After all...I and the three other founders made it a mission to make everyone feel as if they were home here."

She smiled thinly, "I'm sure you did."

"Yes indeed, Ms. Berry..." He stepped closer, stopping quickly when Marty straightened himself in his seat over Rachel's lap. It was then that Rachel realized that the children were wary of the lieutenant.

"...I would have loved for us to chat, but I can't. It seems I've gotten too busy lately," he said quietly, but not enough to evade the stares from the other soldiers beating down his back.

Rachel noticed.

The deadly glare from a ginger haired guard seemed to shake the lieutenant, who kept his gaze on Rachel and continued speaking in a slightly tremulous voice. "Ms. Berry. I'm leader of this zone, along with others...we leaders lead, and a quality that's prevalent in all of us is persistence...guts. Only those who worked for something with their sweat stay by what they strove for. Do I make myself clear?"

His eyes darkened the more he spoke, and his voice deepened and lowered. It didn't matter what words he used, he was threatening her. It didn't take much to know it. He bade her a good evening, attempted to grace the children with a smile that was more of a sneer, before he walked away. She let out a breath, before gazing at Beetie, who knuckles turned white the more she clutched the hem of the woman's sweatshirt.

"C'mon." She pried small hands off and clutched them tightly. "Let's go to my room. I managed to steal some cookies from the cafeteria. And made some hot chocolate. Would you both like that?"

_"Yes!"_

While Marty wriggled out of his spot in excitement, Beetie only nodded, tightening her grip on Rachel. As they strode out of the hall amongst several others, the brunette looked behind to find the guard giving a quick nod to keep moving. _Keep moving!_

She kept on walking, never looking back until she safely got inside her room with the children close. She locked the door and drew the blinds on the window while Marty chattered and ran into the kitchen. She kept the intercom working and prepared hot chocolate, deciding that this was the last time the children were ever going back to their bunkers with the others.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Another thank you to Catty Jay for looking this over!

* * *

**The Sun Goes Out**

_1:00 pm_

Beetie was still looking at her tea.

She's been doing that for two hours.

_1:06 pm._

Marty silently munched on some of the last of the butter cookies the brunette snatched from the cafeteria. The cooks were picking up on the drop in food; but others stole food too, so this wasn't news.

The boy was unusually silent, and if you were her, you'd fret over dark bags under his eyes and tense form. You'd ask him if he was alright, but each time you do he'd smile and lie that he was fine.

You'd want to hug Beetie close, and assure her that the distant noises were probably from the other safe zones. But the girl would ask why noises sound like that. Why did they sound like animals fighting amongst themselves? Then you'd stop and give up trying to distract her. Because Beetie knew what they sounded like. She knew that they were finding a way to breach the border.

Rachel barely slept for days, too worried to sleep. Last night, they attempted to take down the border again, hurling snarls of rage and hunger during cold nights. Moments later, the tenants heard the grim announcement that they weren't safe for any longer.

Not too long ago, a fire alarm had her panicking with the boy and girl until they were led into containment. Their haven was a large basement, and they stood with hundreds of tenants behind locked doors. The orders were based on protocol, but Beetie was beyond petrified, having Rachel hold both she and Marty in a corner, far away from the congested crowd.

_Don't trust anyone. _She remembered Santana telling her this, before any sense of safety vanished being in containment. She became as frightened as Beetie, now aware of just how close everyone was. There were just too many people, and if one of the crazies were to get in, she could lose touch of the children. And herself.

It all was too familiar. Too much like McKinley. _Quinn. _

_Santana, where are you?_

There was barely enough man power to protect them, compared to the numbers who still had yet to return from Florida. In last week's meeting, the lieutenant wasn't available, but a lone soldier stood behind the podium and instilled comfort in everyone. _They will return soon._

"But when?"

She watched Beetie start to stir the liquid in her mug, her bright blue eyes deep in thought. It was like watching Quinn all over again, hazel eyes thoughtful as she pressed over her wound, hiding it from everyone those years ago.

"When are they gonna come back?" Beetie asked again, capturing Marty's attention. "They say that they'll be here to protect us, but it's been almost a month."

"Maybe they aren't coming back." Marty whispered.

Rachel blinked, "They will."

"But-"

"I said they'll be back!"

Quietly, the boy shrunk in his seat. Beetie was upset. She scowled and quickly stomped to the bedroom. Small sniffs drew Rachel from her thoughts. It took the boy's reddish face and tears to make her realise what she did. She sighed, then beckoned him forward, breathing talcum and cotton when he propelled into her arms.

_She had to come back._

* * *

_Five weeks._

_6:20pm._

The children were still uncomfortable with the bedroom locked, so she rested the dressers against the door. Hours earlier the announcer ordered them to stay put and wait for an emergency. The crazies were restless, so they couldn't afford to move and let out any noises. She and the children all slept in their jeans and sweat shirts, along with shoes in case they had to run.

It droned on, the growing crowd of the crazies screeching in the distance. She held the children close, both of them against the wall while her back was towards the door. They were quiet, inwardly wishing for it to end.

_Bang._

Shuffling, hard and frantic from the other side of the room. Another one. Rachel sat up, hands over Beetie's chest before she budged. _Bang. _She slowly took her boots off, socked feet striding silently over the carpet. _Bang. _It couldn't be.

Another scuffle.

"Rachel."

She forced a response down. Forced herself to stay still. _Rachel. _The voice was a male's, and upon all the trashing on the other side of the door, it was eerily calm. Quiet, low enough for only her to hear. She ventured forth, but not close enough. She turned. Beetie was up straight, with Marty hiding under the bed, eyes wide under the waning moonlight.

Harsh panting, more scuffling. Banging. It continued as if the person was fighting his way inside. How could someone's voice stay so calm while they were trying to break inside?

The door shook, hinges bobbing in their grip.

Another blow came, then another, and another until the door literally was about to collapse. Rachel ran back, quietly ushering the children to go inside the bathroom. Beetie scurried, but Marty was still frozen in his place.

"Marty, please..." she whispered, but the boy wouldn't budge, watching the door. She was pulling him, heart pounding the more he shrunk back.

"_Marty!" _she hissed.

He shook his head. She turned around. Beetie held the bathroom door open, waiting. She shook her head, but Beetie refused to lock the door.

"Beetie, go back in!"

The noise stopped. She saw her mistake, watching the still entrance. It was at that moment that she realised something. The sounds that gave her sleepless nights were so loud that she couldn't hear what went on in the corridors outside. They've sneaked their way in.

Beetie rushed over and slipped under the bed, tugging forcefully at Marty's leg. The banging resumed, now louder and more violent. She took her cue. With Beetie, she dragged a screaming Marty from under, tugging him in her arms as she carried his struggling form into the bathroom while Beetie grabbed her boots. They locked themselves in the bathroom, turning the lights off. Trapped with no were else to go.

When the alarm went off, she heard the door finally fall. A loud thud. Her hands covered Marty's mouth before he cried out, burrowing further inside the bathtub. It ran so fast that her heart thumped along the heavy thuds of its footsteps. As the alarm waned, it pounded on the bathroom door, but the door didn't come down as easily as the front did.

She needed to do something.

"Stay down," she said, pushing the children inside the tub behind the curtains. Marty tried to come out. "Marty, stay down!" Beetie pulled him back inside.

She ransacked the cabinet, but that proved futile. She's been in these situations before. She should be able to escape them. But nothing was coming up. She was trapped in a bathroom with two children, and they were going to die. She turned to look at the pole holding up the curtains.

If she could-

"_Rachel, get down."_

She rushed inside the tub, clenching her eyes closed over the children as a blast tore through the bathroom. Blood and spatter didn't get past the curtains covering them. As soon as it was over, the curtains were forced apart, revealing a panicked Santana pulling her up.

The last thing she said before they ran was, "Stay behind me."

* * *

"_Remember when we were little kids?"_

Rachel smiled. "I'm surprised, Quinn." she playfully slapped a cold shoulder, smiling thinly as the other girl whose skin was now turning grey. They sat in the auditorium, oblivious to the helicopters and police vehicles circling the quarantined building. "You remembered me as a little girl?"

Quinn smiled gently, tired eyes twinkling in the dark.

"_I do."_

Death wasn't supposed to feel almost like a dreamless sleep. That's how she realised that she wasn't dead yet, and both Beetie as well as Marty were dozing near the fireplace. The dim lights of candles weren't the only ones that greeted her once she opened her eyes. Through them, she saw masses of bodies in sleeping bags over the thick carpet in the mansion.

She sat up, slowly perusing the area with her dark eyes. She vaguely remembered how they got to this safe place, but she was well aware that she was on her own now, with Beetie and Marty on her side. There was no way she was going to travel with these people. Too many people you cared less about meant stalling. They wasted your time.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" she turned, her heart lifting when she saw Santana not too far away, eyes closed as she lay in her sleeping bag. "It's too early. Wouldn't want to feel tired when you're on the run, would you?"

She smiled, inching towards her friend until she was mere inches away. In the darkness, she could see Santana's smile. She leaned down to kiss her softly, closing her eyes as she was pulled down, pressed completely up against her friend. She missed her so much, wanting to take every inch of her even when so many people were around them.

Santana pulled back, tracing her cheek with her fingers. "Lucky I got there just in time, huh?" Rachel scoffed, but pressed a chaste kiss over her lips. "Don't ever hide in a bathroom from them, though. That's the first thing they go to, for some damn reason."

Rachel laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Somehow, the crazies distracted everyone with their voices, paving ways for some of them to quietly enter the safe zone, sneaking inside the premises in the dead of night. It took only a few of those things to execute a full on invasion.

When the soldiers came back, they were only able to save who they could save. She didn't blame them. They did all they. And only dozens of tenants were left. Many others infected, and some gone missing. Down-town New York was broken into, and the remaining soldiers were still on battlegrounds, bombing the whole place down.

The ginger haired man who watched over her when Lieutenant Grier threatened her was Roger Wright, a close ally of Santana. Tall and muscular, he had piercing blue eyes that could frighten others. He was cold and calculating, his strength too close to Santana's for a human. But he was also friendly, and kind, often taking Marty and other children on piggy back rides. She knew that Santana told her not to trust anyone, but Roger was a good man, why couldn't she trust him?

"Everyone is for their own." Santana answered. "Roger has a family in Alaska waiting for him. His wife and son are the only people he cares about."

"Would you want him to trust you?"

"I'm the general."

She nodded. "What about me?" Santana smiled. "Do you trust me?"

"You're the only person I care about." Santana said quietly, then she added, "And I care about those brats because you obviously care,"

Rachel grinned. "Years ago, I'd faint if you said that."

"What? Me saying I care about you? " The soldier waggled her brows. "'Cause I was a bitch, right?"

"The head bitch, in fact."

Santana threw her head back and laughed, her voice loud outside the mansion. They were alone outside on the porch, with others in the backyard. All adults and children, tenants and soldiers alike, either eating, drinking, conversing, or playing. It was the best they could do to be happy, and prepare for what would come next after losing the only home they knew in this mess.

Warm arms slid around her, pulling her close. "Lieutenant Grier is dead."

She nodded. "I figured."

Santana sighed, pressing her lips over her head. Rachel snuggled further in, but Santana held her at a distance, so she stayed where she was. She was a bit hurt, and thought that maybe she was rushing too much. But when Santana kept her close, she figured maybe this was her way of comfort. Or maybe she was concerned of anyone who happened to come around the corner to catch them in the act.

"He was the one who came to save us when Puck, Brit, and I were struggling in the woods," she said. "I never wanted to go with him. But we were running out of food, and Puck was hurt. So we decided to stay for week, before we packed up to leave."

Rachel frowned, before it dawned on her that Santana was beginning to tell her what she promised to say once she got back. "They wouldn't let us go, for some reason. Something about Puck and I replacing some of the soldiers. Brit wanted to fight but they didn't need any more, 'sides the fact she was more than competent."

"Really?"

Santana chuckled. "I always kept her behind. She had a better aim than I did," she sighed. "They wanted to use her as a medic, and gave her a gun just in case.

I don't remember much of what happened that day, except that I followed Puck and had to fight for my life. I don't know how the crazies got in to get Brit..."

_Like Quinn. _"You had to kill them too." she said, watching Santana nod. "Do you think someone set them up? Before you got in?"

A pause. "Yeah."

"The lieutenant?"

Santana chuckled. "Wouldn't be surprised if there were more involved."

Rachel frowned. She tried to think about the soldiers who were right by the lieutenant when Thomas took her into the gymnasium. They had all been executed, and were probably the only ones who suspected Santana's sudden rise up the ranks. But then she remembered Santana in her drills, and the soldiers watching her closely. The night Santana left to Florida, parting with these words: _don't trust anyone._

_Don't trust anyone. _"You're suspecting your own fleet."

"There are other safe zones. Two other founders."

Rachel could hear the lieutenant's words."_I'm leader of this zone, along with the others..."_

"They're planning to take the survivors to the second base," Santana whispered in her ear, and she nodded. "You're going to go there. But keep the boy and the girl with you. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Do you understand that, Rachel?"

She nodded.

* * *

It took eight minutes to note the way the winds started to pick up the next week. The skies darkened, and the clouds looked like they were being sucked into some vortex. An elderly man notified Roger of the winds this morning, before everyone decided that a hurricane was on its way. The mansion was sturdy enough to hold them, but some of the others were pushed into the cellar, which was large and warm enough for everyone to find shelter.

Marty was being a little spoiled brat, as Beetie dearly put it. This was the first time Santana ever communicated with the tyke besides the time when he was a young toddler who was the sole survivor in an attack all the way in New Jersey. The Santana Lopez she knew back in Lima wouldn't be the type to charm kids, but the one she knew now easily spoke to them as if they were adults themselves. And given that she was the elusive leader in the group, the children fought to gain her attention, eventually losing to Marty, who stuck his tongue out at Beetie in Santana's arms.

The gusts were strong, making a whirring noise above. But most of the survivors in the cellar were calm, happy to enjoy the warmth and converse with their companions. She sat over an old beaten shelf, reading a book filled with African folk tales when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, smiling when Beetie came to sit right next to her. "Couldn't get Marty off Ms. Tana?"

The blonde shook her head with a scowl, noting the book in Rachel's hands. "What're you reading?"

"The enchanting song of the magical bird," she said.

Beetie smiled. "I've read it."

"Yeah?"

"My daddy used to read it to me," Beetie said, smiling brightly. "Then he'd finished the story and tell me, 'children really do hear and their eyes are always clear.'"

"He's right."

She and Beetie continued to read through the stories under the candle light, until someone else neared the duo. Rachel looked up to see a young man sit right across from them. At first, she thought that he was just looking for a seat, but she felt his stare. "Can I help you?" He shook his head, then he paused, and inched himself closer.

"As a matter of fact, you can," he said, taking a peek at the book, his hazel orbs twinkling as he greeted Beetie, who didn't return the gesture. The girl always had a hard time trusting people. Rachel didn't blame her. "I was just wondering what's so interesting about your book?"

"Why should that matter to you?"

His brows raised, but his demeanour didn't change. "Is it so wrong for me to ask such a beautiful woman what book she finds so entertaining?" He placed his hands over his chest, right where his heart was. "My apologies. The name's Malcolm, but my friends call me Cal."

"_Malcolm,_" she said, noting the way his eyes were red rimmed. "I don't remember ever seeing you around here."

"Among hundreds of people?" he said, grinning. "I doubt it, Ms..."

"Berry." She reached out to shake his hand. "Rachel Berry."

He shook hers. "Lovely. What do your friends call you?"

She gestured for Beetie to start moving. "My proper name."

"That doesn't sound too much like a friendly name." he said, but she was gone by then.

Rachel made sure Beetie was right by her as they ventured through the crowd, forgetting about Malcolm entirely. The winds still howled incessantly, going over sixty miles per hour with a seventy-four piles per hour gust rate. She doubted that the eye was in New York. But just in case anything else happened, Santana managed to get most of the soldiers to board up the windows, leaving the foundation and concrete walls of the Bullard Manor to protect them.

Santana found her before she did, with a grinning Marty atop her shoulders as she put him in Rachel's arms. She sniffed for a bit, looking around the cellar before she looked down at Rachel, smiling gently.

"Smell that?"

Rachel shook her head. "What?"

Santana sniffed again. "Nothing. Maybe a dead rat...come with me for a sec." She hollered for Vicky to come watch the two children. Rachel placed the boy down and left the book with Beetie, who held it close before she grabbed Marty's hand to follow Vicky.

She let her friend lead the way, pulling her up the stairs to the living area. They were up a second set of steps, a bit more grand than the ones leading to the cellar. Despite cobwebs aligning well crafted rails, and dirtied marble, the staircase managed to look beautifully ancient on its own.

"I need you to help me with something." They made their way to a master suite, with Santana locking the door behind them.

The room was perhaps the cleanest of every room in the mansion, but Rachel could tell that only the bed had been made, and the dresser polished. Other than that, the room was the same as the others. She started to feel nervous all of the sudden, but Santana's hands were on her shoulders, and she soon felt alright. She looked around, while Santana left to prepare something near the dresser. Rachel turned.

_A syringe._

"That's your medicine?"

Santana smiled, her eyes on the syringe. "Yeah."

"How long will it take until it wears of."

She held up her wristwatch. "Three minutes."

Rachel tried to swallow down the nausea, watching her friend gently tap the syringe with her thumb and middle finger. "Did the first time...was it...?"

"It hurt like hell."

She nodded. "Why did you need me here?"

Santana was seated on the edge of the bed, with the syringe ready and poised near her eye. She didn't look at Rachel, but she said, "To learn. Next time, I might not be in the right mindset to do this by myself." She nodded, and forced herself to watch the needle slide right in.

A hiss was heard as the liquid in the syringe disappeared. As soon as it was in, it was pulled out. She rushed forward to help clean up, but Santana, with her eyes still shut held up her hand. "Not today." She shook her head, disposing the syringe, and then blinked her eyes open.

Rachel watched, before she laughed in disbelief. "They're the same color."

"For about a few hours."

She could care less about that. Santana gazed at her with her dark brown eyes, reminding her of the cheerio who disappeared and was thought to be dead. Her friend smiled, gesturing her over with her fingers. She felt her hands touch her waist, tugging her close. "What are you doing?"

Santana didn't talk, but Rachel made no move to hesitate. She leaned against Rachel's waist. "I get a bit woozy when I take this,"

"Is that a lie or?" The woman shook her head. "So how do you fend off any traitors?" she asked, her voice mocking the soldier with a grin.

"I fend them off."

With that, Santana slumped in Rachel's arms, falling into a deep sleep. The brunette sighed, knowing the implications of what Santana just said. She gently placed her in the bed, removing her boots and pants. She hand combed her hair free, stepping back to strip down.

Once she was done, she slipped under the sheets, snuggling in her friend's arms. She wanted to wait until Santana was deep asleep and go to check on the children. But she was tired too, and Santana so warm, so she drifted off into slumber. Back in the cellar, Malcolm calmly hummed a nonsensical tune, relaxed as he watched the abandoned book shelf Rachel sat on earlier.


End file.
